Xmen: New Gods for Old
by phoenix921
Summary: Over a hundred years after the death of Charles Xavier, his granddaughter must assemble a new team to combat a new threat against humanity.
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: I do not own Marvel or any of the characters in the marvel universe. Any characters the reader has not heard of, I probably made up. I make no money from this story, nor is this story being distributed worldwide.

Authors note: I have not picked up a comic book in years; this story was inspired by books, movies and other fan fiction. Any discrepancies with character lineage, events, and timelines I hope you will forgive.

Prologue

New York City, NY

Tuesday, 2124 7:22 pm

Brian turned off the vid-screen and set the remote down on the ornate, antique end table. He hopped down from his small, custom made chair and walked at a brisk pace on all fours toward the office at the end of the hall. Lines of worry creased his middle-aged, yet young face. The cold marble floor felt refreshing on his hands, as well as his feet, which were also hands. His long, flesh colored tail flicked nervously back and forth as his three foot frame nimbly dodged a cleaner-bot and quietly opened the office door.

"It's happening again, mother."

The woman behind the large desk in the penthouse office of Xavier Industries removed the headset comlink she had been speaking into and sighed as she tossed it on the desk.

"It is as I feared, my son." She walked over to the floor-to-ceiling windows and gazed out at the evening skyway traffic.

Brian joined his mother at the window and looked upon the city. Vast columns of air cars meandered their way across the twilight in regulated traffic lanes marked by floating beacons. Though these devices had been around for some time, Brian still found the sight relaxing. Almost like watching fish in the ocean, schools floating here and there, eventually making there way to where ever their destination may be.

"We've come so far," his mothers soothing, yet regal voice pulled him gently from his thoughts, "over one hundred years since the world wide truce was made between humans and mutants. One hundred years of relative peace. The world has prospered in the absence of war, and now, out of nowhere, these attacks against humans by an unknown aggressor have just reignited the buried hate between our species."

Moira Xavier looked down at her mutant son, "You know what must be done."

Westchester, NY

One hour later

The luxury aircar floated gently to the ground and its two occupants stepped out into the cool September night. Mother and son stared at the compound with expressions that were almost awe. They had been to this place many times throughout their lives, updating equipment, stocking supplies, generally preparing for an event they had hoped would never come to pass.

Moira slid aside a fake brick in the wall outside the grounds and accessed a keypad that would open the gate and deactivate the state of the art security systems. They walked up the meandering path toward the main building of the once proud Xavier Institute for Gifted Youngsters. At one time the student body had been big enough that extra dormitories and classrooms had to be built to accommodate them. The one building school had turned into a college style campus. Moira and Brian walked through the charred doorway into the main hall, stepping over debris and broken glass as they made their way to one of the secret elevators. She stopped when she saw three slashes on the side of a doorway leading from the main hall. She cocked her head to one side, using her mutant power of post-cognition, reached out, and touched the past.

Images flooded her mind.

_An armored soldier, one of many, made his way through the mansion, firing a high powered automatic weapon indiscriminately at anyone who got in his sights. The large strike force, accompanied by Sentinels was ordered to kill anything living in the compound. The soldier turned quickly upon hearing a whimper behind him, and saw a woman come out of a doorway. She was perhaps late twenties, early thirties, she was limping, and half of her face was burned and blistered. She took off one of her elbow length gloves and weakly reached toward him. The soldier did not hesitate to empty the last eight rounds of his clip into her chest and neck. She stumbled back against the side of the doorway, made a gurgling noise, and slid to the ground. The soldier stepped up to her corpse and used the barrel of his weapon to move the white streak of her hair to cover the burned half of her face. Her eyes were frozen open in a look of terror and pain. The soldier muttered something to himself as he reloaded and shook the woman's blood off of his boot. He peeked into the next room only to have a bloody, hairy man shove his adamantium claws into his head and pin him to the doorway. When the man removed the claws, the soldier was dead before he hit the ground._

The images faded.

Brian saw the tears in his mother's eyes as she came out of her vision. He didn't bother to ask her what she saw. He'd read enough about the attack on the mansion that started the global war between humans and mutants. Anything she would tell him would only fuel his nightmares. They made their way to the back of the decayed, gutted out library and accessed another keypad that would open the elevator leading to the subbasement.

The elevator opened into an immaculately clean and brightly lit hallway. They walked at a steady pace down the hall and into the war room. Moira went over to a computer console as Brian hopped onto a stool in front of another. He turned to her before booting the system from standby.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" He asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Yes," she said confidently, "It's time to reassemble the X-men."


	2. The Coming Darkness

X-men: New Gods for Old

Chapter 1

Silver waited impatiently in the small reception area of the Lucian Magnetics office building. Outwardly he calmly puffed on his cigar, blowing smoke rings to pass the time. Inwardly, he was fuming from waiting so long. This "Mr. Black" was lucky Silver had even showed up after he was summoned here via a brief cryptic holo-message. Now this man had the stones to keep _him _waiting for an hour.

Silver was a mercenary, a killer, a bodyguard, the best, and he wasn't cheap. Charging his clients so much gave him the option of being picky about which assignments he took. He originally wasn't going to respond to Mr. Black's message, but, something piqued his interest. Maybe it was the promise of more money than he could ever spend. An offer like that definitely meant a very difficult or time consuming job. Perhaps both, in this case. No matter. Silver was confident he could handle anything.

Taking another drag on his cigar, he rubbed his knuckles and thought of his father. Logan, the legendary Wolverine, who ran with the equally legendary X-men back before the Human-Mutant war. Silver had been in one orphanage after another as far back as he could remember. His mutation didn't manifest until puberty. He was fifteen when it happened. The orphanage had encouraged part-time work for the older children as a means to save money for when they got old enough to leave the orphanage on their own. He was working in a waste reduction facility shortly after the war when he got his hand caught in a garbage smasher and ripped it clean off. Within a matter of days, the hand grew back good as knew. Better even.

Since genetic research had come so far, he was able to find out who his parents were. His mother was a Japanese woman named Ariko, who was also a mutant that possessed enhanced strength and agility. He was surprised to learn that Wolverine had been his father. He had read plenty about the X-men as a child, and, ironically Wolverine had been the one whom he had admired the most. That's because he went down fighting to save his own skin, and the skins of those he cared about. That was his only mistake. _You got too attached to those people father._

After his revelation, Silver became obsessed with trying to be like his father, at least in skill and fighting prowess. Years of training went by before he took on his first job. His employers were so impressed; he became very high in demand. After two years, he was a millionaire. His last step in his emulation of his father was to pay top dollar for the surgical Weapon-X procedure. It took him years of research to find the right people to perform the grafting of adamantium to his skeleton, as well as, add the retractable claws. Once the procedure was through, he killed the nine people who knew about it. Though he was sixty-four years old, he looked thirty, and was in the best shape of his life. His hair was short, dark, and unruly. He also had his mother's silver eyes, which is where he got his name.

"Mr. Black will see you now." The receptionist piped up.

"About damn time." Silver muttered.

The elevator door opened as he neared. Once inside, he hit the button for the top floor. The elevator began moving so fast, his stomach felt like it was in his feet. As he neared the top floor, the lights in the elevator began to dim almost imperceptibly. Silver's keen eyes registered the change in the lighting with an uneasy wariness.

The doors opened into a dark hallway leading to a large mahogany door. The walls echoed with the impatient clang of his grav-boots on the floor. Without fanfare, he yanked open the door and was greeted by complete darkness in the room beyond. Soft lights slowly lit up the room in a crepuscular fashion. Through the dim lighting, Silver could make out a large desk that looked like it was made of obsidian. An oversized chair rested empty behind the desk.

"Please Mr. Silver, do come in," said a female voice.

Adamantium claws sprung out of both hands as he replied, "Is this some kind of setup?"

"Nonsense, Mr. Silver," a male voice said.

"Then show yourselves!" he barked.

"As you wish," the two voices replied in unison.

As he watched, his shadow in the dim light on the floor began to elongate over to the right side of the desk. The shadow then rose up from the ground to stand erect, changing into the shape of a female and solidifying into an actual person. Her skin was corpse white, and she had dark hair and was wearing what looked like a satin evening gown.

On the left side of the room, a section of shadow folded away into nothing like a cartoonish piece of paper, revealing a man with an average face wearing an all black suit. Although the female was much better looking, their features were close enough to tell that they were twins.

"Neat tricks," Silver said curtly.

"Please have a seat, our father is on his way."

Silver looked around for a chair, the only one he saw was behind the desk. The suit seemed to find amusement in Silver's perplexity, and hesitated slightly before waving his hand and a chair folded out of the shadows on the floor. He sat down roughly and began tapping his boot on the floor. Just then, a cloud of dense, black smoke wafted out from behind the chair and completely enveloped it. Just as quickly as it had come, the smoke disappeared, revealing a very large man sitting behind the desk.

If the man had stood up, he would have been at least nine feet tall. Silver only got a glimpse of his face before the man pulled up the hood of his black cloak. He had what looked like six inch tusks jutting forward from the sides of his chin, a thin and slightly upturned nose, and glowing red eyes. Silver was sure that this man possessed great strength, as well as some as yet unrevealed talents.

"I'll get right to the point Mr. Silver."

Silver chided himself for almost jumping out of his chair. The man's voice was much louder than he'd expected, and it sounded like two large boulders grinding together.

"Please do, and no 'Mr.', just Silver."

"Fair enough, you may call me…Pariah," he almost whispered the last word.

Silver jerked two thumbs at the people on either side of the desk, "Who are these two clowns?" he asked sarcastically.

"They are my children, my son, Pitch, my daughter, Shade."

"Fine then, now about your message-"

"Yes, as I said," Pariah interrupted, "I'll get to the point. I would like to employ your services."

"As what?" Silver stated, more confident that the mountain in the chair before him was speaking his language.

"I would like to hire you as one of my…clowns."

Silver was sure that he could almost see the grin between the tusks that stuck out from the shadows of his hood. "Why me?"

Pariah stood up and slowly began pacing around the dimly lit area as he spoke. "The last war was a disaster for mutants. We lost miserably."

"I had always heard that the war ended in a stalemate, and that the truce was made shortly thereafter."

"We lost!" Pariah boomed, slamming a large, meaty fist on the desk. "Mutants were being slaughtered by the hundreds before my predecessor could gather his forces and fight back. We had almost no chance, we were so few, and the enemy was so many. Charles Xavier and his_ X-men_ hid in their school while the rest of us were fighting and dying in the streets."

"You say 'we' and 'us' like you were actually there. The war was just over a hundred years ago."

A small gravelly chuckle floated out from beneath the hood, "I'm much older than I look, a trait we have in common, it seems."

Silver bristled at the comment, "What do you know about me?"

"I know everything about you, including who your father was. I've known about you since you started searching for the final step to become the next generation 'Wolverine'."

Silver moved to the edge of his seat, "What are you saying?"

"Oh come now! Don't be so naïve, who do you think provided the equipment and the manpower to perform your Weapon-X procedure?"

All the air left Silver's lungs. He slowly slid to the back of the chair made of shadow. He was suddenly feeling very vulnerable.

"I did not bring you here to kill you, so brush those thoughts aside. I need your help."

"My help? Silver sat up again incredulous, "What do you want from me?"

"I need you to recruit people, gather forces, and create unrest between humans and mutants. When the time is right we will attack in full force without warning, just like they did to us."

Silver's voice was barely above a whisper, "What are you trying to do?"

"Isn't that obvious by now," he said, slightly amused, "we're going to start a war."


	3. chapter 3: The Vigilante

X-men: New Gods for Old

Chapter 2: The Vigilante

"Who is first on our list?" Moira asked.

"Jason Strum, a gravity manipulator, a self-style vigilante that goes by the name NightFlyer. Ridiculous, if you ask me."

"Where is he located?"

"His residence is just out side of Chicago."

Ever since the war, all children that were born mutant were registered in a global database. When the child's mutation would manifest itself, the government would see to it that they would receive the proper education and training in regards to their abilities.

"Well then, let us pack and be on our way."

Chicago, IL

11:14 pm.

The NightFlyer floated gently down to the roof of the building. His target was the condemned hotel across the street. The Hardballers, a local street gang, used it for manufacturing drugs, prostitution, and various black market activities. The police were mostly afraid to come to this part of town because of the previous violence against cops. It would take a lot of evidence to bring the big guns in. The big guns being, in this case, the Sentinels. Nowadays they were used against mutant _and_ human criminals. Chicago P.D. only had four Sentinels, and with one in 'the shop' for maintenance, that left only three. But with the firepower some of these gangs can get a hold of, three might not be enough.

He ducked down further behind the lip of the roof as an air car passed over head and made a rough landing in front of the hotel. NightFlyer pulled out his small video recorder and zoomed in as close as he could get. As soon as he hit the 'record' button, the video stream was transmitted via satellite to his home computer, this way, if the recorder was damaged; he would still have a copy of the stream.

Two figures jumped out of the vehicle and quickly ran inside the hotel, taking the two guards with them. One of the figures, he recognized, Flare, Hardball's right hand man. He was a mutant that could throw explosive 'flares' of energy.

_Something's going down, _he thought. He popped the magazine of his stun-pistol and slammed it back in out of habit. He attached the silencer he had acquired on one of his earlier runs. Upon seeing the penthouse lights come on, he sprang from his feet and lifted into the night air. He soared above the streetlights and landed on the opposite roof near the skylight. Most of the Hardballers' aircars were parked up here. His pistol in one hand, and his recorder in the other, he peeked over the edge of the skylight and hit the 'record' button.

The gang's leader, Hardball himself was there, along with his lackeys. NightFlyer couldn't make out what they were saying, but they all looked excited, and worried. There were so many guns being distributed that NightFlyer felt sorry for who ever they were attacking. After about ten minutes, it became apparent that the Hardballers weren't going anywhere.

_Hmm. Maybe they are anticipating an attack from another gang, _he thought.

"Get lost, asshole?"

_Shit. _NightFlyer turned around slowly with his hands up. He was mentally raising his shield. The shield had taken him years to develop. It consisted of an inch thick layer of dense gravity that hugged his frame and propelled out from his body. Any bullets that hit the shield would bounce away at twice its speed.

"You got a lot o' nerve-" the gang banger stopped mid sentence and stared over NightFlyer's head.

He risked a glance over his shoulder and saw a small, arm length object about one hundred yards away backlit by a streak of fire, speeding toward the roof of the building.

NightFlyer flung his hand at the dumbstruck gang banger and a blast of gravity blew him off the building's edge as he dropped his recorder and dove into the skylight. He landed ten feet below on a large table filled with weapons and narcotics. Ten gun barrels and surprised expressions stared him in the face. Before anyone could say a word, the missile hit the roof, destroying any potential transportation and spewing flame down through the skylight. NightFlyer rolled off the table and came up shooting at anyone still standing. The door to the hallway flew open and a gun toting punk raised his weapon for a shot. NightFlyer dove out of the way and fired a blue-white bolt of ionized plasma into the man's chest. He slumped to the ground, out cold.

"Tech-heads!" someone shouted from down the hall.

He heard gunfire from the lower floors. He needed to get the hell out, now. He made his way down the hall going from room to room, looking for a quick and quiet way out. He entered a decrepit bedroom just as a Tech-head wearing a flight pack burst through the window. As the freak lunged at him, he noticed the man had a large jagged blade where his left hand once was. NightFlyer rolled back with the lunge and flipped him up with his legs while simultaneously slapping the ignition on his flight pack, sending the Tech-head soaring into and through the wall opposite the doorway.

_Damn Techies, _he thought. The Tech-heads were a rival gang of the Hardballers. They had the technology to rule the whole city, but luckily, their bionic implants had driven most of them insane. He peeked out the broken window to see a Sentinel, flanked by many police aircars, begin to open fire on Hardballer and Tech-head alike.

"Surrender, humans," the Sentinel droned as it fired a capture net into the small crowd.

NightFlyer ran out into the hallway and saw that it ended in a dead end about fifty feet in the opposite direction of the shooting. _Good enough for me, _he thought as he ran a few steps and flew down the hallway. He threw up his shield at the last second and burst through the wall and into the night sky.

He flew low for about a mile and stopped on an unfamiliar rooftop to rest. He could still hear the gunfire and sirens as he pulled off his cheap mask and gloves. _I'll have to send the video footage to officer Smitts in the morning._ After a few minutes he stood up and looked around, trying to get his bearings. He had no idea where he was. "Man, I have got to find a way to navigate."

"I think we could help you with that." A voice said from behind him.

He whipped around, drawing his stun-pistol and pointing it at the…old woman and her monkey? He straightened his stance, "Who the hell are you?"

"Your weapon isn't necessary, we mean you no harm." The woman calmly said.

"Answer my question first."

The woman sighed, "Very well, my name is Moira Xavier."

_Xavier_... NightFlyer holstered his weapon, "What's with the monkey?"

The 'monkey' stepped further into the light and NightFlyer saw that it wasn't a monkey at all. It was a small man with a monkey's feet and tail.

"This is my son, Brian."

"Oh, sorry," he sat back down on the ground. "So what do you want?"

"I assume you've read about the X-men when you were in high school?"

"Yeah of course," he replied, a little more excited, "But they were all killed during the war."

"Yes they were, but there is a new crisis brewing, and I am assembling a new team."

NightFlyer raised his head up from between his knees, "What do you want from me?"

"I want you to lead it"

He shot to his feet, "When do I start?"


End file.
